Friday, December 11, 2009

I have some quirks. We all do, I know but even I think some of mine are weird. Like my thing with water. Water has places that it belongs and places it doesn't and if water is somewhere it shouldn't be, it makes me twitchy. Not kidding. I can't deal with being wet. As soon as I get out of the shower I dry off every inch of myself, including between my fingers. If I wash my hands, I dry them completely. I love those super strength blow dry things in restrooms and I will be the asshole who stands there for a full minute until her hands are totally dry. Don't get me wrong, I have no issue while I'm actually in the shower, and I totally love swimming but when I'm done, it's over, I need to be dry. Not mostly dry, not air dry, Dry. My husband on the other hand only uses a towel so as not to mentally scar the other members of his family. It is used purely as a cover up, never to dry. He prefers to "air dry" (lazy) and even puts on clothes while he still has water droplets on him! Now that just sends me into a tailspin. I get goosebumps even thinking about it and he just shrugs and says "Eh, they'll dry." ACK! Dry it now! I have been known to take a towel and dry his hair so vigorously that he claims I'm going to break his neck. I say, It needs to be done. Because when he doesn't dry himself, he inevitably comes up and tries to hug me, or some other such nonsense, and gets me wet! Not. Cool. He also doesn't always dry his hands after he washes them. He fails to see this as an issue. My guess is he also fails to see the puddles of water he leaves in his wake. Which is why he leaves them for me to clean up. As I walk through the kitchen. In my socks. Wet socks may just be the bane of my existence. Second only to wet jeans. Or slightly damp jeans. Which my husband often hands me out of the dryer. After which follows a conversation like this:

Me: These are wet.Him: They're dry; they just came out of the dryer.Me: They're wet.Him: They're not wet I just touched them. Me: They're wet.Him: They might be a little damp, just put them on they'll be dry in ten minutes.

And then my head explodes from the epic restraint I've showed by not strangling him to death.

And you know what else? Wet counters. I can't deal with seeing wet counters. Public restrooms drive me bonkers. How the hell does the counter get so wet? Did somebody try to wash their cat in there? I have never in my life washed my hands so viciously that I had to wipe down the bathroom*. Am I just doing it wrong? I don't know but I have to fight the urge to wipe down the counters there and at home the counters always get dried after I wipe them down. But I try to be kinda green so if they're only a little wet I fan them. And that is how I know I'm crazy. Because rather than walk away and let them air dry? I Fan. My. Counters. Wet jeans I can justify but there's just no way to talk through waving at your counters.

*That reminds me of a story from when I waitressed at The Pour House in Boston, remind me I'll tell you about it.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Is rad. Go visit her. She's also awesome in 140 characters or less. Angie saved my butt today and here's why. I am forgetful. And not in a little sort of way, in a BIG sort of way. I forget what I'm doing, as I'm doing it, about 15 times a day. Zoning out? Oh yeah. I can't tell you what happened five minutes ago because although I was there, I wasn't there. I guess it runs in the family, we all end up calling each other by different names and you're lucky if my uncle remembers your age within ten years. He also once introduced his wife as his cousin. I'm that sort of space shot, except I'm like that all the time. This behavior, when combined with blogging, is bad. I'm sure that yesterday I had an awesome blog topic. It was epic you guys, seriously. But I didn't write it down and I didn't go write the post so it's lost. Probably forever. The world is worse off. But this is where A Whole Lot of Nothing comes in. She took a dare from Aunt Becky (mommywantsvodka) and opened her whore mouth. Then she told me to do the same. So I am. Because Angie told me to.and also because it gets me off the hook for another day or so.

1) Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream?Jimmies. Yes I like Jimmies on my Ice Cream. Rainbow are prettier but chocolate ones are better.

2) If you had to choose one word to banish from the English language, what would it be and why?Any word for the female anatomy. Seriously, they're all filthy and awkward. Can't we have something short and sweet like Dick?

3) If you were a flavor, what would it be?Honestly, probably something not very tasty. Actually trying to picture myself as a flavor is kind of weirding me out. I'm pretty sure I'm overthinking it.

4) What’s the most pointless annoying chore you can think of that you do on a daily/weekly basis?Folding clothes. I'd rather iron them all before I wear them than waste all the time it takes to fold.

5) Of all the nicknames I’ve ever had in my life, Aunt Becky is the most widely known and probably my favorite. What’s your favorite nickname? (for yourself)I actually like Melissa better than any of my nicknames. It's prettier than the others.

6) You're stuck on a desert island with the collective works of 5 (and only five) musical artists for the rest of your life. Who are they?U2Ingrid MichaelsonThe BeatlesChris IsaakLily Allen

That was painfully hard. I'd also want Jay Z, Ja Rule, Brad Paisley and a million other artists. I listen to pretty much every genre there is and love it all. :/

7) Everything is better with bacon. True or false?It goes against everything in my nature to say false but I'm sure there are somethings that are the exception to the always better with bacon rule.

8 ) If I could go back in time and tell Young Aunt Becky one thing, it would be that out of chaos, order emerge. Also: tutus go with everything. What would you tell young self? DO YOUR HOMEWORK! And shut your mouth and walk away when you get angry, it only gets you in trouble if you don't. Actually I could still use a lot of work on that last one.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Ladies and Gentlemen, Hobos and TrampsCrossed eyed Mosquitos and Bow-Legged AntsThe Show is Free, Please pay at the door. Pull up a seat and sit on the floor.I come before you to stand behind you,At this round table with four square corners,To tell you something I know nothing about.

One fine day in the middle of the night,Two dead boys got up to fight,Back to back they faced one another,Pulled out their guns and shot each other.If you don't believe my lie, it's true. Ask the blind man over there- He sees everything.

I'd say this is a well thought out post to give you a little giggle on the monday after a long holiday weekend but I'd be lying.

In other words. I don't have enough brain power to come up with anything of my own. So instead I've graced you with the ridiculous tale of Two Dead Boys that my Husband's family likes to tell. The copious amounts of food that I've ingested since Thanksgiving has created a(nother) layer of fat around my brain which valid thoughts cannot get through. So I'll leave you with one more boy, this one very much alive and very amused. Turns out that shaking out fabric can be added to the list of things that can amuse small children. Why do we buy kids toys again? Anyway, try not to crack a smile during this video, I dare you. I'm not sure it's possible.

Monday, November 23, 2009

I'm beginning to think I've chosen the wrong career. For one, teaching is a lot of work. I'm not really big on a lot of work. I'd much rather be paid lots of money to do, well, nothing really. Secondly, I really really love high heels. And I mean high heels. All of these...

are on my Amazon wish list and they don't even brush the tip of the iceberg. All of these have me drooling over my keyboard. Did you notice the search terms there? Yeah "Bordello Shoes." Don't worry it's a line of shoes, I don't actually specifically search for hooker shoes, they just happen to be what comes up when I find something I like. Another thing that should probably have me looking elsewhere for shoes? The other people who buy these tend to be...different. Which is fine but it tells you something. Fairly often the reviews are made by men. And not "I bought these for my wife" men. Cross dressing men. NEWSFLASH Oh my god you guys I wan't kidding when I said the other people who buys these shoes are different. I was looking for a review I saw last night to show you guys when I came across this little gem:

"My slaves love it when I pace in front of them with these on. The best part is that they're easy to clean - if you know what I mean."

WHO WRITES THAT?! And yet I still love the shoes. I'll admit it, they're stripper, and apparently Dominatrix, shoes, but at least they aren't clear and have goldfish in them or something okay? But the biggest reason I should be a stripper, the reason that would send me home with thousands every night?

Creepers dig me.

Not joke, I attract the craziest guys out there. Also? Old guys. I was at the deli the other day and the guy who was getting my cheese gave me the package and a slice for me and then said "Goodbye hun, see you tomorrow morning!" in a low sort of voice and winked. My husband was confused. I was too. I don't even know what that means, but it was strange. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn't have eaten that piece of cheese either. but my ability to say no to even the sketchiest of food is a whole 'nother blog in itself. i also didn't share the cheese with my husband despite his protests. It felt too much like betraying my elderly deli man.

So I just need to lose a shit tonfew pounds and work on losing the few scruples I have left and I'll be golden. Seriously, what do you guys think of the name? Golden.... Rod? Or Destiny Diamond? Deysi Lexus Candy Cherry Roxy? Or maybe I can work a few places and have different names. I even have the Shoes picked out already.

Friday, November 20, 2009

I have another confession to make.I've listened to Christmas Carols already. And I liked it.

I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet and yada yada yada but I couldn't help myself. There's a station here in Boston that I have in my presets that starts playing them November 1st. I'll say this though, I have only listened sparingly. I can't bring myself to go full on Christmas before Thanksgiving but I learned the hard way last year that being a scrooge about when is and isn't appropriate to be in the Christmas Spirit kind of ruined the holidays for me. I became a full on Christmas Nazi. Outrage at the Carols on the radio. Indignation at the premature arrival of Santa and decorations at the mall. Full on refusal to acknowledge Christmas until December 1st. Any you know what happened? I never got into the spirit at all. I never really got excited and the Holidays were entirely anti-climactic. Which was extremely disappointing because I love this time of year.

And now the more I think about it, I fail to see where my horror stemmed from last year. Why spend the time and emotions trying to downplay christmas and fit it into a little box? Christmas is something that should be fun and enjoyable. Not something to be dreaded and acknowledged only when December is really and truly here and it can no longer be ignored. As a kid I spent months building up to Christmas and I never regretted it, so why start now? And although I made this decision weeks ago, Anissa's stroke has only cemented it for me. You never know what could happen to yourself or anyone else in your life and I don't want to miss a single bit of joy because I'm being jaded by popular culture. Christmas has been commercialized yes. There's no denying it and there's not much we can do about it but in reality it's only as commercialized as you allow it to be. If you see the Carols on the radio and the decorations everywhere as an evil Consumerist plot to get you to spend money then that's what they'll be. This year I'm choosing to ignore the consumerism as much as possible. I will be grateful for the Carols being on the radio already and sing along with them like I did when I was little. And I will enjoy the decorations because they are pretty and are big bright reminders that a wonderful time of the year is nearly here. I'm looking forward to Christmas for what I love about it and not being a grump about some of the hassles that come along with it. And you know what? I feel merrier already.

And one quick thing before I go. I say Happy Holidays and always will. Not because I want to be PC or because I'm afraid to offend anyone but because I see this time of year, from Thanksgiving to New Years, as the Holidays. Christmas is a single day and I think the season encompasses more than that. I don't not say Merry Christmas but I like Happy Holidays. And I find it extremely offensive when people get angry about me saying it. Also, while I celebrate Christmas, there are other lovely holidays that happen around this time as well and I see no reason why they shouldn't be included in the season simply because I don't personally celebrate them. So there. Hmph. ;D

P.S. The title is from the best Christmas Carol ever by Straight No Chaser - 12 Days of Christmas. Go listen to it!

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Driving home tonight I was damning that I didn't have anything to post about. I wish I still didn't. As most anyone who reads this knows, Anissa, from Aiming Low and #FreeAnissa had a stroke earlier and is now in the ICU. I barely even know her and yet I feel extremely thrown by this. Because I don't feel like I barely know her. I met her twice and I've read all her stories and even if I don't "know" her I know her. She's smart and funny and bright. She's so full of life and energy and to think of her in the ICU seems unfathomable. I keep checking twitter hoping the next post will be the one I want to hear. That instead of all the uncertainty and fear, there could again be the joy and supreme laughter that Anissa brings. And all I can think of is how spamming twitter saved her account and I want to be able to spam someone or something with enough #PrayersforAnissa that everything will be fine. I feel completely helpless, and I'm not even really her friend. Even knowing that no amount of tweeting and hash tags can change anything I want to update every moment until Anissa's name fills the Trending topics bar. There's not much I can do besides this. But instead I'll pray because that is what I can do. I'll pray until I've spammed God's inbox full and he makes her all better just so he can stop hearing from us. Because goodness knows if sheer volume can change the sway of things then the people rooting for Anissa's full and rapid recovery have got this in the bag. Because that's Anissa, she's fucking awesome and anyone who's been around her knows this.

And so, because Twitter can't help us now, I'll take a page from Anissa and end this with "f.r.o.G…fully relying on God"

Anyone interested in Helping Anissa and her family can find more information here.Page is getting lots of traffic so I'll post here too to save it some.

As you may have heard, Anissa, our beloved friend and leader at Aiming Low, suffered a stroke on Tuesday afternoon. She is in the hospital right now, in the ICU.

More than anything, Anissa needs your prayers and positive thoughts but to the many people in the Atlanta area who have offered help to the Mayhew family, we have set up a form for you to fill out so we can have everyone’s contact info in one place (please be assured your information will be kept private). If you are NOT in the Atlanta area but still want to help, you can also leave your information on that form.

Things that would be helpful right now are gift cards to restaurants and gift cards to the movies or to Blockbuster (to help keep the kids occupied) and gas/hotel gift cards for her extended family. We will be setting up a PO Box on Wednesday and posting the address here along with any updates. Please don’t send anything to the hospital or the Mayhew home. If you have questions, please email helpforanissa@gmail.com

We ask that you please respect the Mayhew family’s privacy by NOT calling the hospital and we thank you all SO MUCH for your outpouring of love and support for Anissa and her family.

With thanks and love,The Aiming Low Team

If you would like to send something to Anissa and her family, we have set up a P.O. Box.860 Johnson Ferry Road 140-184Atlanta, GA 30342

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Just one confession tonight actually. And it must be the the two drinks I've had, or maybe it's all the Hip-Hop I'm dancing to (badly- think dying animals) around the kitchen as I bake, but either way I don't tell this people unless we're already good friends for fear they won't talk to me ever again. So here it is.

My name is Melissa. And I hate chocolate chip cookies.

It's true. And the part that usually kills people? It's the chocolate I hate. I hate chocolate chips. I hate them in cookies and I hate them in ice cream. They ruin everything. I put them in the same category as raisins. The "Stay the F*ck out of anything I'm eating" category. And whenever I make Chocolate Chip cookies for my family? I make a bunch of chip-less ones for me. They're amazing, so delicious without the chocolate to ruin it. The only way chocolate chip cookies are edible is when the chocolate is melty. Chocolate in general is only edible when melty actually. (Raisins on the other hand have no redeeming qualities whatsoever.) So thats it. I hate chocolate chips. I undertstand if we can't be friends anymore. But before you walk away forever consider this. I totally give away any chips I find in my cookies. Thats more for you! So just think about it okay?

Monday, November 9, 2009

I'm an arachnophobe. However, I am both more and less arachnophobic than others who fear spiders. It's spidery movement that freaks me out the most, spiders running give me full blown panic attacks. Even thinking about it makes me twitchy. As long as they don't move and aren't on me, I can deal, sorta. Actually, I have this sick compulsion to watch them, and in the case of the huge spider of death that recently took up residence on my back porch, photograph them-a lot. The watching them is purely self preservation, if they move I'm not having them sneak up on me and bite my face off, I'm out of there.

One of my most horrifying spider moments happened recently while I was driving my mother home. As we were on the highway, I had a spider in my dashboard. As in behind the plexiglass, running all over the gauges, being backlit by the lights? Yeah, insert panic here. Only the fact that the thing was stuck behind the glass stopped us from dying in a fiery crash. Pulling over wasn't really an option since we were on the highway in a tunnel and my mother can't drive standard anyway. So I had to keep driving, both hands on the wheel, near the dashboard, and I couldn't stop watching it. My mother was sure that my constantly flickering eyes were going to kill us but I assured her that if that thing found a way out and crawled up my arm as we were driving, there was no hope anyway. (And it was one of those white/green ones, the super nasty ones, you know which ones I mean right? Ew.) So I kept driving, eyes going from road to spider and back again every .3 seconds and I'm getting hysterical, I started laughing and crying at the same time and started hyperventilating, it was bad. So we finally get to my mother's house I drop her off and try to get home as fast as possible so I can be free of my own personal little hell when the thing disappears. Never to be seen again. But it really only made me panic even more because the thing obviously found a way through the vents and is going to be blown into my eyes and kill me, right?

Anyway. Then comes this weekend when this (Warning: There is a bunch of my big nasty spider pictures there.) decided to make it's big nasty home on my back porch. He is like, the mother of all nastiness and evil. Well, not really. I have seen bigger nastier spiders which ran off the dock over the water to eat me alive, but that was in Maine. Maine is woods , it's supposed to be full of big nasty spiders the size of pancakes, you expect them there. There are reasons I don't live in Maine. I live in Boston, a big very urban city, not woodsy, not full of big nasty spiders. Or so I thought, I want a refund. But at least He was away from the doorway and I never caught him moving and I could just use the front door. My sister in law and mother in law both suggested they could shoo him away with a broom, to which I told them in my very calm and loving way "F*cking hell no!" Because then he'd get mad and come wait for me and ambush me in my bed. This is a well established fact.So this leads me to tonight. When I pulled up to my house, there was a very dirty, very homeless looking man on my front porch. Usually I just give homeless people a few bucks and go on my way but what the hell was he doing on my porch?! I was sure that if I tried to go in the house I'd end up clearing out the basement for a hobo apartment because I don't know how to tell people no, or be mean. That's a lie, i tell friends and family no and am mean all the time, I don't know how to do those things with strangers. Creepy strangers in particular. I once spent over an hour talking to a 40 something year old guy who lived in his mom's basement and wanted to invent an insulated rolling backpack that could carry 4 gallons of milk for people who didn't have cars and happened to buy four gallons of milk at a time. Like him. I told him I thought he was on to something. So obviously there was no way I could start up a conversation with this hobo on my porch, he'd end asking to come live in my bathroom or something and this isn't even my house. That left the spider. I manned up walked and back there only to find that rather than being to the right of the door, he had built a new web! Anyone care to guess where? Across the door! OF COURSE! And not only that, he was in the middle of the web-Moving. And yet, it was either duck under the web and run or have a hobo using my toothbrush. So I did it, I ducked, I ran, I screeched and brushed off every inch of my body once I was inside. And it's a damn good thing the door was unlocked because I would have died on the spot if I'd had to stand there. But then? Then my mother in law decided that was that and she swept him away. So now I'm going to wake up after my husband leaves at 2am and have the evil spider of death chew my face off.Think I can trade for the hobo?

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

The other night I went to bed at 11pm, not because I was tired but because I was simply too scared to stay up by myself. Pathetic right? It's even worse, I wasn't scared of someone breaking into my house or something equally plausible, no what started my tangent was this. I'd put the picture here but I know I'll end up coming here ( I look at my own blog I know, but we've already determined I'm pathetic.) at 2am on day and scare myself again. I've been like this all my life. Ever since I was five and I snuck into the living room and watched ten minutes of The Leprechaun. And I don't care what anyone says that thing is scary. He killed a man with A POGO STICK! This fear was only compounded due to the fact that my aunt (the same aunt who tormented me about my muffin boots and piss puddles - we begin to see a trend here) is one of those crazies who loves horror movies. She's 8 years older than me and was always watching them and detailing how the creatures were going to come and get me. We had a back hall in the house we lived in then and this hallway had stairs leading down to our ultra creepy basement. Seriously, no one in my family was okay with that basement. The door that closed off this hall had a window in the top half which, combined with the stairway to hell, made it the perfect place for my aunt to torture me. She'd get me to go out in the back hall for something or other (I was a particularly gullible child, she also convinced me to split my easter money with her) and then proceeded to slam the door shut and tell me that "Freddy/TheLeprechaun/Zombies/etc are coming for you, they're coming right now. Can you hear them? Oh my god they're coming up the stairs! they're gonna get you!" At which point I'd be in full on panic mode, screaming and trying to claw my way through the door until she was laughing too hard to hold it shut anymore. I also have an issue with aliens so of course there's a story for that too. Her room was on the second floor and I was never allowed up there without her permission, which I never got. So when one night she called me up there I was so ecstatic that I ran right up the dark staircase without a second thought. Only to come face to face with a fucking alien at the top of the stairs. Yeah that nearly ended with a trip to the ER as I tried to run backwards down the stairs as I screamed at the top of my lungs. She had taken a Pooh doll, strapped it to the top of the vacuum and put a hoodie on over it. Which, come to find out, makes a pretty convincing alien silhouette to an eight year old. Yeah, she got me with the two more times after that too. ->GullibleSo you see you can't really blame me for being terrified of monsters and aliens or really creepy lawn decorations made with human bones. (Who fucking does that?!)It's not my fault. And it won't be my children's fault when they're the same way because their Mom told them that the only way to be safe from monsters is to pull up the covers, be really still and don't make any noise and for christs sake don't let any part of your body hang over the bed. Because I could tell them that monsters don't exist but I don't think they'll believe me when they see me get all panicky after a horror movie preview. So instead I'll share my own tactics for staying alive, the same tactics I used the other night. "run like hell, don't look behind you and get into your bed as fast as you can. And when your husband asks what the hell is wrong, tell him about the monsters and beg him to comfort you. And when he ignores you and rolls over? Pull up the covers, be really still and don't make any noise and for christs sake don't let any part of your body hang over the bed.

P.S. I have employed that technique for many years and while it has most assuredly saved my life from monsters, cats jumping on my bed out of now where has definitely scared years off my life.

P.P.S. This is also why, despite the fact that I have no siblings, I don't really think of myself as an only child. Only children don't have to put up with this shit!

Saturday, October 31, 2009

As in, named after Benedict Arnold, worst traitor in American history? Yep, those are my ovaries. Now usually my ovaries and I have a pretty nice relationship; they do their thing and I do mine, we were good. But lately they've been pitching a full scale revolt. Lately they've been doing this thing when I see a baby or small child (mind you this only happens when they are being well behaved, my twinging ovaries are sneaky like ninjas and they know better than to try this shit when a kid isn't on their best behavior) and the ovaries start twinging and going "Aw hey look isn't that cute? Ya know, you could have one of those! It'll be sweet and warm and cuddly and call you mama.. " and suddenly my brain, the part that knows that a baby will also scream and puke and be very needy and live with me in my in-laws house, starts to forget all those things and turns to useless baby-filled mush. And then? That's where I start throwing punches. Because you see I've tried reasoning with them. Explaining very gently how yes babies are very lovely and I would like one but now is just not the time, thank you very much. Now be quiet. That didn't work so I had to escalate. It may seem drastic to start punching oneself in the ovaries in the middle of IKEA but I'm telling you, there is no other way. I can not lose this fight! And now my husband is on my shit list too. Because as we were shopping yesterday with my 7 month old cousin he actually said, out loud - where my ovaries could hear him- "I'd like one of these of my own" and my ovaries cheered, they had bells and whistles and a fucking marching band and not even the punches would rain on their parade. So if anyone knows where I can pick up some of these...

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Yesterday my mother and I decided that we hadn't quite gotten our fill of Aiming Low in Boston. Then again, can you ever really get your fill of free food, swag, cool electronics and amazing bloggers? I think not.

Me and Brittany from Barefoot Foodie. I squeed like an asshole when I met her for the first time in Boston. She was lovely and didn't acknowledge how awkward I was :DMotherbumperlooks frightened but I don't think she was scared of my mom. ;)Mom and Shauna. Shauna's vagina has super powers. I think her whole body does actually because she looks about 20 years younger than she actually is. Godzilla! Oh wait. taht's just me next to two cute little ladies. (Like my Bra Strap? Hel-lo Aiming Low!)That's better.

My mom and Angela who was with HP and was so super helpful with an issue my mom had with her printer.

Did I mention the HP products were amazing? Touch Screen computers are so much fun and I'm pretty sure I'll die if I someone doesn't buy me this. It does everything and then some and if it would do the laundry and fix my car, I might consider replacing my husband.

So anyway, we grabbed my aunt and started our drive down to NYC and pulled up to the hotel (which was right in Times Square -Awesome!) about 4 hours later. The event was lovely yadda yadda yadda, Boston was better in my opinion, but I don't regret it at all.

That isn't what this post is about though. This post is about what happened after the party. We opted to spend some time walking around Time's Square being touristy.I look pregnant, I know. I'm so not pregnant. That shirt is just evil.See? Nothing there but shirt. (And maybe some pudge) It was great. There were huge crowds of people willing to push you, step on you and call you names, people dressed up like Spiderman, Elmo(x2 and Ew they were dirty and furry) and Batman, and of course the peddlers. it's simply amazing how every street corner merchant manages to have real designer handbags for only $20! And I can't forget the crazies, those who only come out after midnight such as make-up man ( he could have given RuPaul a run for his money) Biking down the street singing at the top of his lungs man and the Loudly Mumbling Watch Peddler who called us "whiteys." Good observations, Sir! After a few blocks though, the heels that had seemed like a great idea at 8am were about to push me over the edge. I checked every kitschy tourist store we passed for some flip flops but it was 50 degrees and it just wasn't happening. So we went into Walgreen's in a last ditch attempt and searched all three floors (so weird, right?) For something, anything to help my aching feet. All we could find were slippers. I know, I know, God effing help me, I know. It is so disgusting to wear slippers in Time's Square. But I was in so much pain and in my defense they have rubber soles. Said slippers were of the variety that my Aunt has not so lovingly deemed "Muffin Boots" These are the original Muffin Boots. I think mine are a bit more stylish. Their style, and not the ick factor of slippers in New York was the big catch up for my Aunt. "Muffin Boots? New York is like the fashion capitol (I reminded her of LA) of the country and you're going to wear Muffin Boots." I however, was too busy being skeeved out by the fact that I could feel every little texture in the pavement to worry about offending fashion sensibilities. Well, that and being paranoid that the rubber bottoms would fail me and my feet would become soaked from what my mother and Aunt lovingly started calling "Piss Puddles." Did I mention it poured in NYC yesterday? There was a lot of wet going on. However, they seemed to hold up and they didn't hurt me so I loved them.I was kinda proud of them, they stepped up to the job and tackled Time's Square head on. There was some revenge for my aunt though, because while we were eyeing some jewelry she had a big drop of "Piss Water" splash on her from above. Isn't that face priceless? Karma's a Bitch. Besides, I was apparently not the only one done with heels. I hope she had some slippers.

P.S. As we were walking back to the Sheraton, we passed a store with flip-flops. ::headdesk::P.P.S. The Yankees Lost. It was the finishing touch on our lovely night.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

It may not be the first time I've been inspired by the wonderful bloggers over at Aiming Low but it's the first time that the inspiration hasn't been something along the lines of "Ooh She's right cupcakes sound amazing right now" or "Good Idea, I think I won't bother getting dressed today either." No, shockingly the ladies of Aiming Low have actually inspired me to push myself. I know, it's totally against their mantra, let me explain. I've tried many times to be a good blogger and keep it going but I never had any success. But being around all the bloggers has pushed me to just do it. It doesn't matter if I forget or "forget" to blog for two weeks, just do it anyway. So you see even though they inspired me to get off my ass (metaphorically speaking of course, I'm quite happy sitting on my ass while I blog) and do it, they also lowered the bar for doing so. And that is what Aiming Low is all about.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

This is a special day for sure. Even more special for me than the rest of the world because not only is it Inauguration day it is my One Year Anniversary! Tonight hubby and I will go out to eat and celebrate but He's in class this morning and I'm all about watching the goings on in DC. I didn't vote for Obama but I'm glad he won. I think if he had not it would have been bad to epic proportions. My not voting for him had more to do with my dislike of our two party system and the state I live in. I think Barack Obama is a good man and I think he is going to be good for America. I think if he does nothing else during his presidency he has done wonders for our country just by being elected. He is a powerful speaker and I hope that with some help from God he'll be able to work some of the miracles America needs. The best anniversary present I could ever receive is to have George W. Bush out of office and replace by someone that actually presents the country with hope for the future.

About Me

I am 25, married, have one son and another on the way, I started keeping this blog for myself, as a way to document my life because I enjoy looking back on what I've written a few years later, but that got boring outrageously fast. I swear, sometimes a lot. I try to use euphemisms but that's a lot of work. I blame it on my mother-she's in construction.